


Slow Burn

by imparfait



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imparfait/pseuds/imparfait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is beautiful like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Burn

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the hp_kinkmemes R/S kinkmeme and I'd thought I'd leave it there, anonymously, because it was mpreg and I honestly wasn't sure I'd want people to know I wrote it, but people called it beautiful and made me blush, so I suppose I don't mind putting my name to it. I'm proud of it. It's unchanged except for fixing some tenses here and there. Written in five or so hours.

Magic lingers under Remus' fingers when he touches the curve of Sirius' stomach. Of course it does, he tells himself, because magic made this and magic swells his stomach into a beautiful, round thing. He cannot stop touching it; the space that normally be occupied by blankets and books and old take-out tins has been cleared away because this is it, all Remus wanted: two halves of a whole that make up the perfect Sirius.

Sirius shifts in his sleep, mumbling to himself and twitching with discomfort. It won't be long now. The magic holding their child inside Sirius is stretched taut like Sirius's skin. It hums when Remus presses his ear against the swell and he swears there are sparks when he touches Sirius, but Padfoot calls him daft and laughs it off.

When they'd discussed having a child Remus had baulked at the idea. It wasn't that he was scared of fatherhood – he wasn't, not any more than any man making that choice – it had been the underlying fear that seeing Sirius' body change would repulse him. He chuckles softly, sleepily, because he's just woken up and he is half hard from just touching the changed places.

The air shifts imperceptibly, but Remus can sense things almost before they happen and he knows Sirius is awake before his eyelids flutter open. He looks otherworldly like this, sprawled on his side with one hand tucked under his head and another splayed against the bottom curve of his pregnant stomach. He slides his hand up and twines their fingers together and in that moment, a split second before any words are uttered, the image of Sirius like that – two halves of a perfect whole, at once sharp and handsome and delicate and feminine – sears itself behind Remus' eyelids and makes his cock twitch in his flannels.

Sirius chuckles and turns. It takes longer than it used to; he doesn't move with the same fluid motion his barely-grown body should. He struggles and settles with a smirk on his lips. There is magic laced under his skin in delicate patterns older than time and his hair is settled around his head like a dark halo. Remus' blood is pumping through his veins and his breath is shallow and he wants nothing more, _nothing_ more, than to feel Sirius' hand on his prick, or maybe Sirius' lips, or to slide inside, all warm heat and gasps.

Sirius says nothing, but says everything. There isn't a moment in Sirius' life where he is quiet, even in his silence. He says he'd learnt the art of speaking Moony, but it isn't true – it has been there since the beginning because Sirius is an artist and he knows that the moments he creates are like paintings or epic poems and speak thousands of words. Sirius Black is a performer, always has been, and Remus is his most captive audience.

The silence stretches on like rolling hills in dreams, filled with things they might be saying but instead Sirius keeps his peace and reaches forward with his free hand, tangling it in Moony's hair and pulling him forward into a searing kiss.

This hasn't changed, Remus thinks. The sharp angle of Sirius' jaw, the smooth curve of his nose, the stubble on his chin, they're all the same. It's a strange feeling, some torturous duality that he can have the angles and the day-old scruff at the same time he can feel the swell of a pregnant belly and rub his thumbs across stretch marks that Sirius shows no one else.

It's beautiful and it's his, everything he wanted wrapped up so neatly and tied with a halo of hair, soft like spring grass and dark as a new moon night.

They are both still tired. The ache of sleep ebbs out of their bones slowly. Remus can feel it like he feels everything – intense; emotions breaking over his bones like waves crashing against cliffs. Sirius is hard, too; he feels it when his hands drift lower.

When his fingers brush against his prick Sirius gasps into Remus' mouth, he steals his air and suddenly Remus is breathless, pressed between the wall and his lover and there is magic sandwiched in the middle, thrumming through their veins and somehow that thought makes Remus harder, which shouldn't have been possible, but Sirius lights the world on fire and it burns warm without turning to ash so Remus should have known that Sirius could do this, too. He built a life for them and made a child and grew it inside of him and he makes Remus crazy, impossibly hard and euphoric and he would even if the city were crumbling outside their window.

Sirius moans softly when Remus wraps his fingers around his cock. Nothing is comfortable for him anymore, not even this, but Remus is determined to make it good. He wants to see Sirius' face twist into pleasure and hear him gasp and pant and whisper _MoonyMoonyMoony_ because that is Remus' favourite performance. He drinks in every motion that Sirius makes and every breath he sucks in, but sex is just them, something no one else shares in.

He strokes him lazily, fingers curled loose around Sirius' cock. Sirius tightens his fingers in Remus' hair and breaks their lips apart, gasping and, Merlin, he's already trembling. Remus can feel it in the fingers in his hair and the lips that find the pulse point on his neck and then drift up to his ear. Sirius whimpers and the sound breaks something inside Remus. His fingers tighten and he matches his pace to the _thrum-thrum_ of his heartbeat; it quickens again and again and Sirius is keening, muscles taut and his toes curled.

Remus rests his free hand against Sirius' belly and it's almost too overwhelming even for him. He isn't sure how Sirius is holding on when Remus is about to come, lost to pleasure by the sight in front of him: Sirius splayed out on the bed with his hair like silk and his cock ruddy and dripping and Remus' hand just there, between his spread thighs, bringing him off.

Sirius arches his back as he comes and it is awkward and beautiful, like everything about Sirius now. It's different, like his body is different, but Remus loves it because of it. He watches the air whiff out of Sirius' lungs as he collapses back down and he frets for a moment because this is so precarious, such an unknown factor in their life right now that he can't help but worry. A second later Sirius smiles at him, that lazy grin that lights a fire inside of him that his soul warms itself by, and the worry evaporates back into desperate need.

He waits behind a thin veil of patience while Sirius recovers. His eyelids flutter once, twice, and then Sirius shifts back onto his side and pulls Remus towards him. Sirius kisses differently, all give and no take. A snap of guilt fires in the back of Remus' mind because all of this, his life, this child Sirius is carrying, everything is the greatest gift he's ever been given and he couldn't possibly take more. The feeling dissolves before it can form fully because Sirius is tugging at Remus' pyjamas. The cold air makes him hiss but Sirius fixes it with a flick of his wrist – magic of a different sort, purely physical and all from touch.

It doesn't take Remus long to come. He'd worked himself up into a frenzy before Sirius had even woken up and it is an utter miracle that he lasts as long as he manages. He shutters and moans out Sirius' name and then he's being covered in kisses, pulled into an embrace that leaves him warm and comfortable.

They rest against each other, tumbled together in bliss and tired again, even though they haven't managed to get out of bed in the first place. It will pass, it always does, and Sirius will demand chips for breakfast. Eventually he will get up and scrounge some up because he won't deny Sirius anything he wants, he can't really, even if it's not a craving and just Sirius being nineteen and _Sirius_.

For the moment he has this: Sirius is the sun and their child (a boy, Sirius insists, even though they don't know) is the world. Remus revolves around them both and he wonders if that makes him the moon.


End file.
